


Summer

by theclockiscomplete



Category: Doctor Who, Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: F/M, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Prompt Fill, Whouffaldi Fic Challenge, you can ot3 this if you squint
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-06
Updated: 2017-07-06
Packaged: 2018-11-28 17:10:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,406
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11422437
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theclockiscomplete/pseuds/theclockiscomplete
Summary: Clara's brought a Time Lord to a beach date.





	Summer

**Author's Note:**

> I will literally never be over this stuff, okay? Okay. I started out with just the Doctor and Clara in the boat, and then I made him something approximating season 8's personality, and the Danny showed up and it was all pretty fun from there. I love the hurt/comfort, as we all know.

“You know, if it’s the authentic feeling of rocking about that you’re missing, I can just turn off the stabilizers in the TARDIS.” The Doctor’s fingers were white where they gripped the edges of the tiny canoe; his too-long legs squished up close to his chest, boots against the closest seat.

“Shut up,” Clara said amicably from the front, digging her paddle into the blueish water and giving a satisfying tug forward. Overhead, the sun peeked from behind gauzy strips of cloud, creating a kind of slow flickering of light and dark over the lake and the surrounding trees. A gentle breeze stirred her hair beneath the brim of her wide straw hat. She glanced back at the Doctor, who was wisely shutting up but appearing to pout about it. He risked removing a hand to swat at a mosquito too close to his nose.

“There are millions of species—whole planets, in fact,” he grumbled, “who would burn the universe for a drop of time lord blood, and they’re going to have their work cut out for them if a lot of insects are swarming about with it.”

“I’m sure your blood is delicious,” Clara said absentmindedly, then: “Do you know that you look ridiculous?” He did, objectively, look like a small boy who had been allowed to dress himself. Clara had managed, with a great deal of bargaining and threats alternating, to badger him into swim trunks (with flaming scorpions on them) and a Coldplay t-shirt she’d bought for a sleep shirt at a concert a few years ago, going two sizes bigger for maximum cosiness. It had faded and softened over the years, and it was the only thing she could get him to wear outside of his stuffy magician’s getup. On the way out of the tardis, he’d grabbed the coat and refused to part with it and now he sat behind her looking like the world’s largest toddler playing dress up in a long coat, beach clothes, and his black Loakes. He ignored her and squinted ahead at the approaching stripe of sand and trees.

“We’ve been rowing for hours,” he complained. “Consecutively. In the right order. Please tell me that’s where we’re stopping.”

“It’s been thirty minutes, and _we_ have not been rowing at all.” She tried to sound annoyed, but the feeling of the sun on her forearms and the sound of the glittering water around them thwarted most of the attempt. The approaching island was indeed where they were going; she could just make out a human figure crouched over something on the shore, and her contented smile widened.

“What’s that?” The Doctor leaned forward, unheeding to the tilt of the canoe, to look over Clara’s shoulder.

She kept her voice calm and reached out to grasp the cooler at her feet. “That,” she said, “is Danny.” She took a deep breath and held it as the Doctor leaned over even further, halfway to a question, or possibly an expletive. The canoe tipped sideways, and then the world was water.

 

Clara was feeling pretty smug about the waterproof cooler precaution as she hauled it and herself out of the lake and onto the shore, taking Danny’s proffered, if confused, hand and ignoring the grumbling behind her as the Doctor lugged the canoe up to the sand and flopped it back over right side up. “Hiya!” she said breathlessly, pecking Danny on the lips.

“Hey.” His face did the soft thing it did around her as he smiled back. His eyes darted uncertainly over to the knobby-kneed figure trying to brush the sand off of his sodden coat.

“I see you followed through on your threat to bring him.” He took the cooler from Clara and handled its weight easily in one hand, walking towards the campfire that was just starting to get going in its shallow pit.

“Ah, I was bringing him the whole time,” she said, squeezing his other hand in hers. “The threats were just to make sure you held up your end of the deal.”

Danny blinked. “I always do though.”

Clara nodded. “And I always deliver on my threats. See? Perfect.”

Danny chuckled in spite of himself. “You didn’t have to prove that to me,” he said, and popped the lid off the container. Clara took off her hat and shook her hair in the sunlight before setting it lightly on Danny’s head as he rummaged around in the half-melted ice for a lemonade, which he offered to Clara before getting one for himself. Clara waved to get the Doctor’s attention and pointed to her can like “yes? No?” The Doctor scrubbed a hand through his already re-animating hair and trudged through the sand towards them, his scowl ever so slightly less terrible.

Danny stood and reached for the brim of Clara’s hat, adjusting it slightly lower on his head, and pointed over towards three chairs set up close to the shoreline. Each chair had a fishing pole leaning on a rock in front of it, and three large umbrellas stood watch over them. “Shall we work on dinner?”

Clara tossed a drink towards the Doctor, underhand. It smacked him in the chest before his long fingers clasped around it. Whoops. She turned back to Danny. “Lead the way.”

 

“So do aliens wear sunscreen?” Danny eyed the Doctor’s skinny legs protruding from the edge of the umbrella’s shade. The three of them had been sitting quietly for an hour, occasionally pulling up a small fish or chatting amicably, so long as the chat was between one of the boys and Clara. This was the first attempt either man or man-shaped body had made to talk to the other. An olive branch. Clara was pretty sure she knew where this question was going to lead, but she listened, also curious.

The Doctor had earlier managed to catch one fish, which Clara had removed tidily and efficiently from the hook after he’d caught his hand on the gills, and had then called it quits on the grounds that he didn’t need to eat like they did anyway. He spoke without looking up from the fishing pole he was currently trying to put back together with the help of his sonic. “No need,” he said simply. “Skin’s tougher than you soft humans. Built in UV resistance for traveling in space and such. Aha!” He clicked something into place with a flourish and reached for something in his pocket. Clara leaned over to Danny.

“You weren’t especially attached to that rod, were you?”

“Nope. And you brought aloe, right?” Clara nodded with a small sigh.

“I suppose he’ll say it’s my fault for making him wear shorts.”

“Yeah about that,” Danny said, amusement creeping into his voice. “Scorpions?”

“Look. He went into the wardrobe six different times before he came out wearing anything that even resembled beach wear. I was not about to start a row over the design.”

Danny nodded, satisfied. A stray bit of straw tickled Clara’s nose. “Fair enough.”

The Doctor sat up and cast the entire rod out into the water like a javelin, looking expectant. Clara and Danny traded a glance before watching to see what it would do. For a moment, nothing happened. The there was a small explosion and the water churned around the rod before turning up six recently dead fish to the surface.

“There!” he turned to them with a satisfied smile. “Calibration was a bit off, but that should do for your dinner. Now we can do something interesting!” He waded out into the water and delicately picked up two fish in each hand, using them to nudge the remaining two towards the shore.

“You really can’t take him anywhere, can you?” Danny mused. Clara, face buried in her palm, didn’t reply.

 

It was quiet with the Doctor gone, and not in a terrible way. Danny and Clara had polished off the small picnic lunch Clara had packed, and were now lying in the sun after a quick dip in the water—a re-dip, in Clara’s case. Danny had brought only two beach towels, guessing correctly that if the Doctor was to be in tow for the trip that he would be very unlikely to use something as human as a towel. He’d barely convinced himself that bringing the spare rod was necessary.

“S’nice out here,” he said into the cooling breeze. The world was slipping into the golden hour, hovering just before it in the kind of held-breath light of late afternoon. Clara’s eyes fluttered open, and she watched the gathering clouds for a long moment, pursing her lips. Danny knew that look, and he sighed, not ungenially. “Go ahead,” he said.

“There’s a planet made almost entirely of solid clouds,” she blurted immediately, but she had the grace to look sheepish. Danny reached across and took her hand.

“Not interested, but I’m always glad that you are.” Clara lifted their intertwined fingers and studied them, rubbing a thumb along his quietly. “Clara,” he said, and her eyes dragged up to his. “You don’t have to feel guilty for enjoying them without me. It’s alright. As long as you keep choosing…” he waved their hands. “…boring old me in spite of it all.”

She laughed and pressed the back of his hand to her cheek. “Always gonna pick boring old you, don’t you worry, Mister.”

He smiled back. “I’m not,” he said truthfully.

 

The sky was bleeding orange into blue when a rustling from behind the campfire caused Danny to turn midway through slicing another fish. Years of reflex training snapped into use—he had just enough time to drop both knife and food as a hundred and twenty pounds of feverish, sunburned Time Lord pitched forward towards the flames of the campfire.

“Whoah, hey.” Danny half-rose and caught the Doctor around the middle, taking his weight and bracing a foot behind him to stand. Out closer to shore, Clara turned from her spot shin-deep in the lazy, dimming water. Her eyes widened in alarm and she raced towards the two of them, taking some of the Doctor’s boneless form from Danny and helping to shoulder him into the chair. He made an attempt to get back up, swatting halfheartedly at her.

“Give it up,” Clara said, pushing him easily back down by the sternum. He complied instantly, which worried Clara more than the angry red scrape on his forehead, clammy and slick under her hand. “What happened?” she asked, softer now as her thumb brushed gently over the forming scab.

“Heat exhaustion. Classic symptoms.” Danny appeared back in the firelight, holding a medical kit and two water bottles.

Clara looked back the Doctor, incredulous. “Seriously?”

“Ridiculous,” the Doctor muttered. He made another move to get up. Clara positioned herself so that she was flush against him, hands braced on either armrest of the folding chair and knees between his, touching one of them. He made a small noise of pain and Clara readjusted so that she wasn’t aggravating his sunburn, but her gaze didn’t waver in its intensity. The Doctor slumped back into the chair, shivering slightly.

Clara cracked open the lid of one of the water bottles and held it out to him. “Drink.”

He gave her his best annoyed eyebrows under the circumstances, but he reached for it reluctantly. His hand shook, and water spilled onto his lap. Clara reached to help, but he stuck it quickly in his mouth and tried to glare at her.

“Yeah, that’s really lost its sting for the moment,” she said mildly, and pressed the second water bottle to the side of his flushed neck. The Doctor stiffened, and then almost immediately relaxed back into the coolness. His eyes drifted half closed, and Clara took the partially-drunk bottle from his hand before he could spill the rest of it into the sand.

“He should really drink all of both of those bottles if you can make him,” Danny said as he rifled through the first aid kit.

Clara lifted the bottle and raised an eyebrow at the Doctor. “Are you going to make me?” she asked. His shoulder did something approximate to half a shrug, and Clara felt her alarm turn soft. “Hey,” she said, reaching to hold the back of his neck with one cool palm. “Drink this.” He didn’t offer protest, though she knew him well enough to see the walls going up under the exhaustion in his face. She poured the water gently into his mouth, thumb stroking his jaw as he swallowed obediently. He coughed towards the end of the bottle, and Clara set it down and stroked his hair as Danny maneuvered himself to the side and gently used an alcohol pad to wipe at the sandy scrape over his eye. The Doctor recoiled, but Danny followed, unperturbed.

“Looks like a regular bump, nothing serious. Did you pass out at all?”

“I tripped over a root. I’m not concussed. It takes a lot more than that to knock out a Time Lord.”

Danny flicked a glance to Clara. “He’s always like this, isn’t he?”

Clara smiled fondly. “Yup. Though usually it’s his TARDIS patching him up, and she can give as good as she gets.”

“Poor guy doesn’t have a chance between the two of you, then.”

“The TARDIS,” the Doctor rasped. “Brilliant idea. If only I’d thought to bring it along for my kidnapping.”

“Shut up,” Clara said, without heat. She leaned over and withdrew the bottle of aloe from the cooler. “This’ll help bring down his body temperature, won’t it?” she asked Danny. He nodded, affixing a small bandage to the Doctor’s forehead with surprising tenderness.

“So’ll ditching the coat,” he said.

“Please don’t give her a reason,” the Doctor said, eyes closed again. “She’ll get it off eventually without one. I’m just stalling, really.”

“Sorry,” Clara said cheerfully. “I’m under orders. Give me a hand, Danny? He’s attached to it like a blankie.” The Doctor resisted halfheartedly—“I have no such thing, Clara”— but between the two of them they managed to extract the damp coat from his skinny shoulders and Danny laid it over another chair closer to the fire to dry. The Doctor suddenly looked very small in the chair, two thousand years of space and time condensed into bony knees and elbows drawn in, looking for all the world like an armadillo curling against a potential attack.

“Would y’mind getting him a fish ready?” Clara asked, turning her face up to Danny. In the last dregs of evening light, silhouetted by the fire behind him, he almost looked like he could be the one who was two millennia old and counting. “I don’t know a whole lot about Time Lord physiology,” she continued, tapping the Doctor’s head lightly when he scoffed, “but I’ve seen him eat and he’s human shaped enough that I don’t think some energy would go wrong.”

Danny nodded and kissed her cheek, the spell broken, a regular human man once more. It was enough. “Give a shout if he tries running off,” he said, and squeezed her hand before turning back to the fire.

“Sang karaoke with a fish once,” the Doctor muttered, laying his head back against the cloth of the chair.

Clara paused, considering the mental image and filing it away for later.

“The other me,” he elaborated. Shame.

“Not this fish though,” she said finally.

“Far as you know. Could have been the next Frank Sinatra. It’s irresponsible, really.”

Clara popped the lid of the aloe and poured some into her palm. “You listen to Frank Sinatra?”

“You’re surprised.”

Clara squished her hands together and began lightly applying gel to his shins. The Doctor’s eyes flew open and he recoiled into the chair, wincing with the pain of the burns stretching. “Be still,” Clara said, grabbing the unburned back part of his leg and pulling it back towards her.

“It’s cold,” he complained, but he didn’t kick flinch when she tried again. “Why’re you doing this anyway? It’s embarrassing.”

At this, Clara paused and looked up at him, concerned. “I didn’t know you knew how to be embarrassed. Is it because of Danny?” she asked. “Because he’s warming up to you.”

“I meant embarrassing for you.”

Clara narrowed her eyes and applied a very slight pressure to an angry red knee. “Two thousand years of space and time sunburned and heatsick,” she mused, “and he’s still cheeky.” She looked up at his face, weighing her need to patch him up against his fragile feelings.

His expression was inscrutable, watching her the way she’d not yet been able to place. Like he was sizing her up and already knew what he’d find. Even after all of these months, she wasn’t sure if what he saw was good or bad, only that it was intense and he hadn’t attempted to pass any judgments.

“Okay I won’t,” the Doctor said suddenly. Clara blinked, caught momentarily off guard. “Be cheeky,” he elaborated. His shoulders relaxed again, but he still somehow managed to look regal in a discount lawn chair. “If this makes you feel better, go ahead.” he looked away.

A brief spark of indignation flickered within Clara, but just as quickly came the reminder that despite appearances, this man wasn’t human. Seeing him sunburned and something close to frail like this, with an angry pink bump under a very plain looking bandage, it was easy to forget. He was right, though. She’d seen him look worse. He’d be fine in a couple of hours, and she’d have been fussing over nothing. And yet. She looked at her goo-coated hands. Deep breath. “I like taking care of you,” she admitted. “I like feeling like I’ve, I dunno, done something. I like this. The bickering and the fussing, too. I want to help, if you’ll let me.”

He was watching her now, completely nonplussed. She waited, unsure if she should elaborate further and wondering if she should have said anything at all. A stray piece of hair tickled at the corner of her mouth and she became uncomfortably aware of sand wedged in the backs of her knees. Finally he spoke, perplexed. “Isn’t that what I just said?”

She laughed at that, which only increased the angles of his eyebrows, thrown into soft relief by the fire a few meters away.

“In a way,” she conceded. “Now give me your leg. I can’t feel my fingers anymore.”

“Yes ma’am.”

As she began to liberally apply the green gel, she picked up Danny’s chuckle from the other side of the fire, and she smiled in spite of herself.

 

The fire was low in the pit and the stars were bright enough to cast light on the sand outside the flames. The Doctor, barefoot, lay on one of the towels Danny had brought in his canoe, knees up; Clara and Danny occupied the other. Danny’s phone quietly played something syncopated from its spot atop the cooler, and Clara was fast falling asleep on his chest when he kissed the top of her hair and said, “I’m really glad you came with me on my boring adventure.” Clara nudged his chin with her head, unwilling to put any proper effort into anything more.

“It wasn’t boring,” she said, stifling a yawn. “The Doctor nearly regenerated. That’s usually a sign of just enough trouble." She rolled slightly to look at him over Danny's chest. "I wonder what he was even doing out there. Probably chatting up a tree.” She sneaked another glance at her friend to see his reaction, but he didn’t acknowledge her words.

“I think he’s asleep,” Danny murmured. Clara could feel his smile in his chest, matching hers, and that felt right. The two men—or man-shaped beings—on this secluded beach with her were essential to her life in different ways. Their interactions would probably never result in friendship, but if they could see how important they were, how much they mattered and why…well. “I just mean to say,” Danny continued, chuckling as he trapped the sleepy hand now groping for his mouth to shush him, “you could be anywhere in the universe right now, and you’re here with me. So thank you.”

Clara hummed her assent and snuggled closer, eyes drifting shut. They both jumped a second later when the Doctor spoke clearly from his position on the towel beside them: “You’re welcome.”


End file.
